


Jet Set Ready Go

by Savorysavery



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Depression, Despair, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 08:22:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6510331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savorysavery/pseuds/Savorysavery





	Jet Set Ready Go

**Summary:** Mikan thinks of going into the beyond in that last few moments of her miserable life.

 **Rated:** Mature

 **Genres:** Hurt/Comfort, Tragedy

 **Warning:** Major Character Death

 

 **Author's Note:** I think about Mikan a lot lately, about how she's so easy to become: a girl who was tortured for being different, who was driven to a horrendous act. She's very realistic, and out of all the Remnants, he one most like anyone you could meet. I suppose this piece, in a way, is solely about a girl who was hurt. It's set during her Execution, and is my take on her thoughts, stretched out as she goes towards death. There's nothing pretty about this: it simply is what it is. I hope you come away with something from this short piece.

 

* * *

 

Mikan never realized how cold the air could be up in the sky, how grey the blue could be this high from the ground: it almost looks like the islands will receive rain tonight, her tears falling from high as one last reminder of the torture they put her through in this life and their past.

The rocket was jetting up, up, up, shooting into an expanse of blue so wide that Mikan felt terror clutch her gut, felt true fear -tinged with a bit of despair- gnaw at her, sink its maw of rotten teeth into her body, gobbling her up in a never-ending blue maw.

It was odd that this was the thought in her head, the only thought gumming up her ride high, high, high: she would have thought she’d felt despair, would have felt immense regret chewing at her, but instead, she felt **resolve**. She couldn’t fathom hate for Hajime anymore: couldn’t even be bitter towards Hiyoko, and certainly not towards Ibuki.

Yes, she’d strangled Ibuki, caught her by the neck and twisted, crushed down on the windpipe, and seized the air from her. True, she’d pulled blade across Hiyoko’s throat, sunk it in to kiss her carotid artery and **dragged** it, sawing through until Hiyoko tilted over, limp in Mikan’s arms, second mouth gaping below her round chin. She did it with minimal regret, cut them down and said bye, bye to their ouchies, stringing them up for show.

But she’d done them for **despair** , and that was a comfort in her heart, tethering her to the rocket as it jostled, whizzing through the sky.

She hitched her chin up, felt the rocket beneath her thrum as the back detached, fuel going into a second burn. The sun broke through in that moment, a smeared sunset that made her wince, brilliant pinks and oranges, stark yellows and vivid purple mottling her skin as the exhaust swept behind her, gusts earing up her skirts, hair whipping behind her.

Mikan was dizzy now, head spinning from the lack of oxygen, heart beat skipping fast, fast, fast, trying to force air through her blood, but she felt thick of honey, a girl half-there. Lazily, her eyes closed, and she tilted to the right, and jerked back, coughing hard as she squinting, the sky black at the edges.

She gusted through a cloud, coming out wet, but when she came out, there was no sound: just a quiet abyss of nothing. Even the rocket, previously thrumming in her ears, roaring as it propelled her up, up, up was quiet now. It was as if she’d gone into her own, private little world, tucked herself away from all the pain. Somehow, she was able to force her eyes open, to squint into the atmosphere, and what she saw left her breathless.

A hand was reaching down to her now, red, slick nails curved in perfect ovals, soft, peach pink hands that had always cared for Mikan, had always sought to touch her without malice or disgust. She _needed_ those hands now, that welcoming, soft palm, cupped to receive her into Ultimate Peace, into the gift for dutiful despair, for **love.** In that moment, Tsumiki Mikan willed the rocket to move quicker, to push itself harder and higher, to zip into the thinning air and strip her of her breath, force her body to shut down quick, quick, quick.

The feeling welled up, an odd blend of despair at dying, at being **caught** , and then, a curious mix of hope and the peace that came with the fall of the ax, and she felt her body shudder, adrenaline rippling through her, making her whole form a quivering mass as she reached a new peak, legs slick against the rocket arm. She sighed, breath coming out in broken gasps, and forced her eyes open against the gale, forced herself to see the dawning of the black mass of Nothing beyond the atmosphere, and **smiled** in the face of death. This is exactly how Junko would have wanted her: panting for this odd mingling feeling, lapping up despair as if ambrosia, sweet and rich.

That hand was still there, still reaching for her, pretty nails curling, _kochi kochi_ , _kochi kochi_ for Mikan to come. Mikan felt her heart leap, placed a hand over her hips, and sighed, feeling a thrum right in the middle of her gut, and let the wind gust her side to side, humming softly for a moment. This was no longer **punishment** , no longer an **execution** : this was a gift from the great, yawning beyond, a love letter from Enoshima Junko to her beloved Mikan.

“I’m coming home, Junko-san, to _you_ ,” she whispered reverently, eyes wide, a smile dawning on her face. “Please, don’t let go.” Mikan’s words were but a snatched whisper as she extended timid hand out, straining to grasp her sole savior as she pulled her to a bright, shining Paradise.


End file.
